


What Happens On Recon

by Midnight_Masquerade



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Being Walked In On, Embarrassment, Gen, Jo Practises Unsafe Gun Management, Masturbation, Prompt Fill, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 15:53:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3494126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midnight_Masquerade/pseuds/Midnight_Masquerade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caught out of town by bad weather and forced to stay overnight in a hotel with thin walls? Absolutely no way this could lead to any kind of awkward situation. Prompt fill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Happens On Recon

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: Jo catches Henry in the act of, uh... self love.
> 
> Between me and Steamshovelmama, soon everyone will have walked in on everyone else doing everything embarrassing. Yikes.

Jo really hates snowstorms.

By the time they're pulling into the hotel parking lot they can barely see an inch in front of the windscreen and the wipers have long since become useless. Jo stops the car and pulls her hat low over her ears, sighing as she looks out into the blizzard.

“If we'd left when I said we should,” Henry announces from the seat next to her, “we could have made it out of town and would be safely back home by now.”

“It's called gathering evidence, Henry.” Jo replies curtly, “No judge is going to accept a case built around your hunches. And anyway, if we'd pulled into any of the motels we passed on the way here we'd be safely indoors by now.”

“Everyone is going to head straight to the motels.” he said, “Here we are much more likely to get rooms.”

“Right,” Jo muttered, “and you can't sleep unless it's on Egyptian Cotton.” Without waiting for his reply she pushes the car door open and struggles out into the snow. This had seemed like a such a simple venture just a few hours ago – interview a key suspect out of town, get back, be that much closer to solving the case. But the weather warnings had hit far too late, and now Jo's having to put up with Henry sulking because (in his usual three-piece suit and scarf) he's utterly unprepared for the storm.

Jo's looking forward to the two of them being in separate rooms for the next ten hours.

The wind threatens to knock them off their feet the moment they're out of the car and it's a hard battle to the warm light bursting from the doors. Jo's out of breath as they step into the foyer, pulling her hat off and letting Henry step forward to book them in. The reception is all fake marble and brass – it strives for pretension right down to the sleek black pens on the counter, and just for a second Jo can't breathe. This hotel isn't trying to be her kind of world. It's trying to be Sean's.

She pulls herself back to reality, turning her attention to Henry and the tired, bespectacled, receptionist. “...lucky.” he's saying, tapping away at a keyboard, “We've only two rooms left.”

He hands over the cards and Henry thanks him graciously, giving one to Jo at random as he passes her. She takes it and follows him. All of a sudden she feels exhausted.

Her and Henry's rooms are right next door to each other, and Henry spares her a polite nod before disappearing into his own room. Jo sends a vague wave back, not sure if he sees or not, then clicks the door shut behind her and throws her hat down on the stiffly made bed.

She's about to pull her shoes off when she spots the second door, set into the wall opposite the bed – the wall joining her room to Henry's. She wanders over and raps her knuckles on the wood.

“If you snore,” Henry's voice floats through to her, slightly muffled but perfectly audible, “now would be the time to tell me so I can return to the car.”

Jo chuckles, “Don't keep the TV on all night.”

“Don't worry, Detective.” he says, “I wouldn't even know how to turn it on.”

“Goodnight, Henry.” She returns to the bed and flops backwards onto it, letting herself sink down into the mattress. Unwilling to rise again, it takes several minutes of wriggling before her shoes are discarded onto the floor, followed quickly by her shirt, bra and slacks. Then there is just the sound of the snow outside guiding her down to sleep.

When she wakes again the room is dark and silent, and the blinking clock next to her announces that it is early morning. She slides off the bed and pads over to the window. The storm has finally passed, and trucks are already roaming the streets shovelling snow and laying down grit. Jo doesn't want to waste any time getting back to the precinct, and decides to find out if the hotel's ideals of grandeur extend to the showers before she grabs her partner and hits the road.

She's halfway back across the carpet when she hears a gasp from the adjoining room. She freezes in place, cop instincts jumping into overdrive and sleep-addled brain flashing to images of suspects following them down to the hotel, lying in wait, breaking in to Henry's room –

A short, sharp cry echoes through the wall and in a second Jo is springing into action, stooping to snag her gun from her belt on the floor, diving forward and shouldering the door open, “Henry are y – God, sorry!”

She slams the door shut again.

There is a prolonged silence on both sides of the wall.

It takes Jo a mildly embarrassing few seconds to remember what she'd been doing before the, uh... interruption, and then she's hurrying into the bathroom and shutting the door conspicuously behind her. Not that she really needs that shower any more – boy is she awake _now_. But she figures sticking her head under loud running water for a few minutes is probably a good tactical move, and she intends to take liberal advantage of the bottles of overly fussy shower gels lined up on the back of the sink. She rubs the grits of travel and sleep out of her eyes, doing her best not to remember the sight of Henry sprawled on his own bed, muscles taut and twitching, beads of sweat running down the planes of his flushed skin as – _woah there, Martinez!_

She purses her lips, face heating in embarrassment, and thinks very carefully about the case until she's pulling on her clothes from the day before. Then, slotting her gun back into it's holster, she sends off a text to Henry telling him to meet her down at the car and phones Hanson to tell him they were on their way back. By the end of the call, and one short detour to grab several candy bars from the reception vending machine, she's in the driver's seat and turning the heaters on full blast. The Precinct may not be the best environment, but with its constant crowds it was at least warm.

She's just reaching the point where she can consider exposing her face and hands without getting frostbite when Henry finally pulls open the passenger door and slides in next to her. For a very long second neither of them say a word. Jo finds herself having to bite her bottom lip to keep from giggling – it really isn't that funny, but she's so used to her immaculately tailored, unflappable ME that his awkwardness is causing her much more amusement than it should.

Eventually, Henry clears his throat, “I apologise, Detective.”

Jo shakes her head, “My fault. Shouldn't have barged in on you like that. Just – unfamiliar environment, years of training. You know.”

“Indeed.”

She has to admire his heroic recovery, though it pokes at something in her that demands to not let him off that lightly.

 _No_. They are both adults and professionals, and she is above such immature –

“Maybe if you didn't sound quite so much like you were dying. Sympathy for all of your past partners.”

 _Dammit_. This is entirely Hanson's fault, him and his bratty kids. They're a bad influence on her.

She starts the engine, feeling Henry's eyes on her. She doesn't have to look to see the affronted expression on his face, and she keeps her own carefully neutral.

There's another drawn out silence as they back out of the parking lot and head towards the highway. Jo is just considering apologising again when Henry speaks. “I wish I could return the sentiment, Detective. Unfortunately you and your... assets have the better of me.”

“What?” She glances at him and sees him smirking.

“I was hardly the only one putting on a display.”

For a moment she wonders what the hell he's talking about. Then she remembers how she'd crashed into his room that morning: almost straight out of bed, pausing only to grab her gun, still naked except for her underwear, _oh shit_. She'd been too on the alert to even realise.

She glances at Henry just in time to see him flick his eyes very deliberately up and down her body, and the noise that escapes her mouth is a mix of shock and disbelief.

Screw him. She's not sorry at all. She's going to bribe Hanson's kids to come to precinct and ask him loads of inappropriate questions

“ _Anyway,_ ” she shoots him a look that she hopes conveys that he hasn't won this one, and she is simply biding her time, but probably doesn't say any of that at all if Henry's amused smugness is anything to go by, “This murder that we still haven't solved?”

“Quite right.” He allows her to push the conversation back into safe territory, and Jo decides she is very much looking forward to being back in her own apartment where there are no intrusions of any sort.

She really hates snowstorms.

 


End file.
